


On Guilt and Absolution

by die_traumerei



Series: Bike Girls [10]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Broken Bones, Comfort, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/F, Female Aziraphale (Good Omens), Female Crowley (Good Omens), Guilt, Ineffable Wives | Female Aziraphale/Female Crowley (Good Omens), Injury Recovery, Light Petting, Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), Soft Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 15:40:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28673106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/die_traumerei/pseuds/die_traumerei
Summary: After The Picnic Incident, Aziraphale and Crowley are recovering. Bodily hurts are healing nicely, but guilt and self-blame lead to a conversation, and reassurance, to say nothing of cuddles.(A very, very soft fic, that exists only to be soft and comforting, with just a tinge of hurt.)
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Bike Girls [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1997386
Comments: 6
Kudos: 51





	On Guilt and Absolution

**Author's Note:**

> This is set just a few weeks after The Picnic Incident detailed at the end of Crowley and the Perfect Picnic: A Comedy of Errors, while they're still recovering.

Aziraphale turned the page, mostly lost in her book. Crowley's library – and living room – rather had that effect on her; it was so easy to get comfortable on the big blue sofa with the vast ottoman that made it into a chaise. Pressed right up against a bookcase, and with a pretty little table sized just right for holding a small teapot and her mug and a plate with biscuits, it had become Aziraphale's favoured spot in the house, especially on days like this one, when rain pelted at the window behind her.

Mostly lost in the world of _Mrs Dalloway_ , she was aware of Crowley coming into the room, the particular rhythm of her since their unfortunate incident. Thank heavens her ankle wasn't broken badly, and she could get by with a boot and a single crutch; with her opposite arm a mess, this at least let her move under her own power.

She didn't look up when she felt Crowley sit beside her, wiggling to get to the sofa around Aziraphale's wheelchair, parked right there, and then snuggling up to her on the chaise. Just held her arm out, and let her girlfriend cuddle close.

“Where's your neck brace?” she asked, turning the page one-handed, her other hand making sure Crowley was nice and close.

“It's hot and uncomfortable,” Crowley whined.

“You're hot and uncomfortable,” Aziraphale said, still not looking up. “Go get it, love. I'll pet you if you promise to keep it on.”

All was quiet for a moment, and then Aziraphale heard a little sniffle.  _That_ got her to put her book down in a hurry, and put both arms around Crowley, cuddling her properly. “Oh, demoness. Love, what's wrong? Tell your angel.”

Crowley laughed, and wiped her eyes, and made an ugly sound. “'m sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry...”

“Shh, now. Hush, let's get you loved first,” Aziraphale comforted. “Pivot, so your legs go over my lap – yes, like that, no you're not hurting me silly girl.” Her lower legs were both in plaster up to her knees, blue for a change, and Crowley was nowhere near them, her worrisome girl. Even when she'd had the long casts, this wouldn't have hurt, her pretty love's long legs making a vee over Aziraphale's lap. She cuddled Crowley close, bade her lay her head on Aziraphale's shoulder, and kissed her forehead, one hand protective and gentle on the back of Crowley's neck. She'd fuss about the lack of the soft collar later; For right now Crowley would be well, her broken arm tucked against her belly safely, and her whole _her_ held in Aziraphale's arms.

“There we are,” Aziraphale murmured, stroking Crowley's good arm and kissing her hair. Lucky duck, it was a little easier for her to get out to the village, and she'd got a haircut the other day, so her undercut was fresh and velvety. “I'm sorry I ignored you.”

“No, it's not that.” Crowley smiled sadly. “I'm sorry. I did this to you.”

“No, you didn't,” Aziraphale said sharply. “Never say that again, _never_. I've dated someone who hurt me. You're nothing like her.”

Crowley shivered and shrank closer against Aziraphale, who immediately gentled her whole body. She was good at being soft, at least; big breasts and a big belly and big hips and fat arms and wearing a pretty knitted wrap dress that showed off all of the above as she whispered soft, gentle things to Crowley.

“Besides,” she said. “You're hurt as bad as I am, if not worse. And we'll both be fine in a few months, at the most. A few weeks, really.” It had been weeks already; since those awful first days in hospital, then Aziraphale moving in temporarily, as it was easier to make Crowley's cottage accessible. The truly painful days were over and now it was the boredom of healing, of waiting for bone to finish knitting and the ligaments in Crowley's neck to heal, of waiting for when wheelchair and crutches were no longer needed.

“You're right,” Crowley mumbled. “'m just in a mood.”

“All right,” Aziraphale said gently. “That's all right, love. Poor thing, you just need some love and cuddles and a soft place to rest.” She smiled and touched Crowley's leg, just above where the boot started. “We need to re-split chores. I'm perfectly good at getting around now, and I can carry things more easily than you, miss.”

“No, Zira, your legs...” Crowley touched in return, the hard fibreglass that protected her broken legs and let them heal.

“Are doing just fine,” Aziraphale finished firmly. “Please. We don't have to do it right now, but I can do more. And you need to rest more.” 

“...all right,” Crowley grumbled. “I'll get you back in bed.”

Aziraphale giggled. “Oh, absolutely. I'm not giving up my pillow princess status one bit, Crowley. I bet I can sit on your face soon, even.”

This startled a genuine laugh out of her girlfriend, followed by a wince.

“Baby, please,” Aziraphale said, in her softest, fluttery-est voice. “Where's your neck brace? I'll go get it for you. You're in pain. If I hold you all afternoon, will you wear it?”

Crowley bit her lip, and offered the tiniest smile. “It's in my office.”

“Perfect. Don't get comfortable, I'll be right back,” Aziraphale informed her, before easing her off, and getting herself into her chair. She _was_ pretty good at it by now, pushing herself easily through the house and finding the abandoned foam brace where Crowley had promised. It was the work of only a few minutes to go back to the living room and wheel herself close to her girlfriend who was sat on the sofa, looking uncomfortable and sad. _Well_. That wouldn't be allowed to continue, not without definite attempts to comfort, anyway.

Aziraphale gently fastened the foam collar on, not without sympathy. She'd had to wear the same kind after her bike accident, and it hadn't been very much fun, on top of how ugly it was. But nothing in the world could detract from Crowley's beauty – she firmly believed – and goodness knew it was a step up from the hard collar she'd had to wear at first. This one looked...less scary. Less like Aziraphale might have lost her love.

Aziraphale smiled at her, and Crowley smiled back. “You know what would make me feel even better?” Crowley asked.

“Let me get settled, _then_ you can feel me up,” Aziraphale said, and went through the whole rigmarole of getting herself comfortable on the sofa again, her legs stretched out and up onto pillows, and then of course getting Crowley cuddled up to her again, this time without little gasps of pain. Aziraphale made sure she was comfortable – her poor arm. The purple cast covered her from fingertips to above her elbow, but even that was healing, and there was no long-term damage to her hand. And she was pretty good at typing one-handed now, churning out another romance novel even after she got hurt. (Aziraphale had been happy to offer suggestions, and was still gunning for a character to get named after her. A really pretty one, was her only condition.)

Aziraphale smiled indulgently as Crowley's good hand crept into her dress, cupping her breast, her thumb caressing the lace of her bra. “Do you like, honey? I wore a pretty bra just for you.”

“You did not.” Crowley was smiling, though. “But I like. I love you.”

“I love you. Tell me your heart – if you want.”

Crowley's smile only wavered a little. “I know it's not my fault. We were in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Mmmhmm.” Aziraphale cradled Crowley in her arms, petting her hair again. “I never for one instant even thought it could be your fault. We just have bad luck. Well, I mean, we have the best luck – I met you, didn't I? – we just had bad luck _on that day_.”

Crowley's smile grew. “And even then it's...I mean, your legs will be okay. And your foot.”

Aziraphale smiled and wiggled the toes of her right foot – poor thing, that limb got a double-dose. “They will, dear girl. And your neck is healing, and your ankle and your arm. And we're both well enough to take care of each other.”

“I like knowing I can almost always find you right here,” Crowley admitted softly. “I like that you're ploughing through my book collection.”

“Me too,” Aziraphale said happily, and Crowley eased a little in her arms. “It's been hard, I'm not going to lie to you. It hurt a lot, and the wheelchair is annoying, especially trying to get around the village. I miss my little flat, even if it is the least-accessible domicile on earth. You've been there every, er, step of the way, and you've seen me cry plenty. And we've cried together plenty. But I love you, and you've made this all...beyond bearable. A little holiday, sometimes.”

Crowley moved her hand to rub the boot on her leg, smiling ruefully. “Some holiday.”

Aziraphale shrugged. “Look, I tried, give me a break. Pun not intended.”

Crowley groaned and gave her the lightest of shoves, before burying her hand in Aziraphale's dress-front again, palming her breast.

“I lied. Pun intended,” Aziraphale said, just so she could get a good little nipple-pinch. “Mmm, you tease.” She kissed Crowley's cheek. “I love you with all my heart.”

“I love you too,” Crowley said, and nuzzled closer to Aziraphale, as much as she could. “I'm sorry about the neck brace. I'll wear it from now on, I promise.”

“You're talking to someone with a _lot_ of sympathy for uncomfortable textures and sensations,” Aziraphale reminded her. “It's certainly a bother, and it was even when I only had to wear one for three days. But you need it, honey. That gorgeous neck needs a little help right now, is all.”

Crowley smiled a little. “I had known you about forty-five minutes, but when they x-rayed your neck and back, I thought I was going to pass out, I was so scared.”

“Oh, love.” Aziraphale pressed kisses to her hair. “You were the exact most perfect person to come into my life that day. Any day, really, but can you imagine if you hadn't come along at just that moment?”

Crowley made a little noise of protest. “I don't want to, don't talk about such things.”

“Shhh, shh. I'm sorry. It happened, and it will never un-happen. Antonia Crowley pulled me out of a pond of the worst muck in all of England, and fell for a sweaty bint with a knackered wrist who was covered in algae.”

Even Crowley feeling sad couldn't help but laugh at  _that_ description. “I'm still falling for her, every day.”

“Even with her legs in plaster and in a _very_ bad mood?” Aziraphale teased.

“Even then. Especially then, you're hilarious when you're super-bitchy,” Crowley said.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale burst out laughing. “Are you serious?”

“Absolutely. You're a trip.” Crowley squeezed her breast in lieu of a hug, or being able to turn her head for a kiss. Well, Aziraphale would take it. 

“But I'm not being nice.”

“I know, it's great.” Crowley grinned. “If I had to be laid up with anybody in the world, I'm glad it's you.”

“Oh, Crowley. What a lovely thing to say.” Aziraphale melted like the softy she was, and she kissed and petted Crowley a little more, and rubbed her thigh. Limping along was hard on her body, poor lass. Also Crowley's skirt was very short, and Aziraphale reached edge-of-panty, which she was very proud of. “Are you comfortable like this?”

“Completely. Utterly,” Crowley sighed, and indeed she was heavy against Aziraphale's body, finally relaxing. _Resting_.

“Good. I want to keep holding you for a long time,” Aziraphale said softly. “I'm not going to insist you be happy, but I want to love you, at least.”

“You're helping. I don't feel so guilty,” Crowley admitted. “It _was_ a freak accident, wasn't it? I didn't do anything that meant you got hurt?”

“It was a total accident,” Aziraphale said. “And it's not your fault. None of this,” she said, gesturing at the two of them and their array of medical apparatus, “is your fault.”

“Will you remind me of that?” Crowley asked softly. “My brain keeps wanting me to think I did this to you, and you should hate me for it.”

“Let your brain know I am _massively_ put out at it,” Aziraphale said. “I understand, Crowley. My brain gets on those weird tracks too. I will remind you very often. The only thing you 'did to' me was give me a beautiful day out. And a lot of care and love and comfort, when I needed it.”

Crowley smiled. “You're easy to love.”

A pause.

“Sure about that?” Aziraphale asked lightly.

“Mmm. No, I take that back,” Crowley said slowly. “Ease somehow implies that I don't value it. It is deeply _natural_ for me to love you. It feels already written into me. But I also work at it every day. To understand you and support you. And yes, to hold my temper with you, and talk instead of stalking off. Easy isn't the right word. But you're _fun_ to love, angel. You're fun to get to know, and have adventures with, and cuddle and have sex with and to love every day.”

“Oh my dear,” Aziraphale said, her voice shaking. “That's the kindest thing anyone has ever said to me.” Certainly her family didn't have fun loving her. They did so because they had to, grudgingly. And Gabrielle had never loved her, just used her. Other girlfriends hadn't had  _ fun _ loving her, not exactly, and friendship-love was in a different bucket in her mind. Only  _ Crowley _ could call a dumpy, dull, bookish woman fun to love.

“Well that's a fuckin' shame,” Crowley muttered, and actually withdrew her hand, cupping Aziraphale's face and gently drawing her such that they could kiss, soft and sweet. “You're the best adventure, you are.” She smiled into the kiss, and Aziraphale dropped her jaw, kissed deeper, mouth open wider and wetter, a promise for another time and an enjoyment of the moment. She even moaned a little, unable to help it, and held Crowley firm in her arms.

“Oh, my angel,” whispered into her mouth, and they kissed deeply for a long time, caressing and holding onto one another, Aziraphale strong and steady and Crowley's good hand flitting, touching her face and her neck and into her dress again, caressing her breasts. They kissed until they were breathless, and Aziraphale had to admit her arms were about to give out, and then they just laughed and Crowley settled next to her, hip-to-hip and snuggled as best she could do. 

She had to get up at one point for the bathroom and came back with the sharpies, and so they passed time until supper, first Aziraphale adding a pretty design to the upper edge of Crowley's cast, and then Crowley, in a ghost of her old lounging, draping herself over Aziraphale's wheelchair and paying attention to her legs, drawing a brilliant, stylized sun on the front of one of her shins.

“I like the blue,” she said lazily, adding little details along the edges of the drawing, little organic flowers to contrast with the geometric lines. “I liked the pink too, mind.” Aziraphale's first set of casts had been bright pink, like the little one on her wrist all that time ago.

“I liked the pink better,” Aziraphale admitted. “Guess I'm just a high femme through and through. She wiggled her toes and smiled when Crowley tweaked one. “I expect I'm done with broken bones now, though. Will you be content with a dull, middle-aged girlfriend?”

“I'll  _ love _ her,” Crowley said, and drew a heart on the top of Aziraphale's broken foot, just under the toe she'd tweaked. “Seriously. Please stop calling yourself dull, you really aren't.”

“All right,” Aziraphale said, admiring Crowley's work, to say nothing of her contortions. She really worked that whole gays-can't-sit-right thing. “Besides, I expect we'll have loads of adventures, even if we don't wind up in A&E.”

“Absolutely,” Crowley said, capping the marker and sitting up, looking much happier and sweeter and just –  _ better _ . 

Good.

**Author's Note:**

> (Aziraphale, it's so cute you don't think you're a Disaster Lesbian through-and-through.)
> 
> Thank you for reading!
> 
> dietraumerei.tumblr.com


End file.
